


Gillcia Week

by JosephThropp



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: Breaking the Bed, Comedy, Father-Son Relationship, Gillcia Week, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:55:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25703950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JosephThropp/pseuds/JosephThropp
Summary: Seven prompts for Gillcia Week, celebrating the ship of a staunch knight and a passionate father.
Relationships: Garcia & Ross, Garcia/Gilliam (Fire Emblem), Gilliam & Ross (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	1. Bed

The sound of a blade cutting through the air broke the placid, midday silence of the village as Ross swung his axe down swiftly, cleanly splitting a log in two. He bent down to pick up the two halves, tossing them into the pile he’d already started. It was as good a way to pass the time as any in front of a woodshop.

In the past year spent rebuilding Ide, Ross had done work putting lots of different things together. A village required infrastructure, and there were only a few hands among them when they’d started out. His own, his father’s, and Gilliam’s. The three of them had put in a lot of work already, and things were really starting to pick up. These days, they spend more time creating furnishings than whole structures. It was what Ross was prepping the wood for now, in fact. 

“Oy, Ross! Already working hard, I see!” 

The sound of his father’s voice drew Ross’ attention away from his task, looking up to find Garcia and Gilliam approaching. They carried with them all the additional supplies needed for the job. Tools, paints, and even some binding agents. Good, they could get started right away, then. 

“Dad, Gilly, about time you got here!” Ross smiled at them, taking a moment to swing his axe down and lodge it into the stump he’d been using to chop the lumber. He jogged over to meet the two older men, slapping a hand on his father’s back in greeting. 

“Sorry for the wait. Your father was torn on which paint to bring.” Gilliam said, nodding his head in acknowledgement when Ross slapped his arm as well. 

“It’s an important project, after all!” Garcia shot back, grinning broadly. “That’s why we’ve got Ross pitching in. Would you trust anyone else with something like this?” 

Gilliam didn’t respond right away, but his mouth twitched up in a half-grin after a moment. “No, I suppose not. We needed someone that we knew had the skill for this project.” 

Ha. Were they trying to flatter him, or what? As much as he was already happy to help them with whatever they needed. Ross had to admit the praise was always nice to hear. Nice enough that he got a little rush of enthusiasm, ready to tackle whatever they had for him. 

“Alright, alright, I’m already on board, you two!” Ross assured them, beaming all the while. “So tell me, what’re we doing?” 

Garcia cleared his throat at that, almost speaking before he stopped short. A look of uncertainty crossed his face as he looked over to Gilliam, who only offered him a nod as a means of affirmation. It must’ve been enough however, as he turned back to Ross with renewed confidence. 

“We’re working on a bed. We need the frame and a headboard!” He explained. 

Oh, that was a fairly easy project. Ross was ready to accept that without question and get to work, but a thought struck him before he spoke.  _ A bed? _ They hadn’t even broken ground on any new homes recently. Were they going to pick up on a plot someone else hadn’t finished? No, that couldn’t bed, there were none in progress at the moment. 

“Dad, who’s the bed for? We don’t have any new residents.” Ross’ brow furrowed as he fixed his father with a befuddled expression. “Is someone in the village moving someone into their home?” 

That got him another bizarre silence from the two other men, who shared another silent look. It was some of that unspoken language they often used. Gilliam was already a quiet man, and he’d somehow imparted some of his own introspective nature onto Garcia since they’d settled down together. Ross was usually appreciative of that fact, but he only resented it in this case. The fact that his father and Gilliam could convey things to each other without even speaking when they wanted to keep something from him was painfully irritating. 

He was about to speak up when his father beat him to the punch, finally breaking his silence. “It’s...for us. Our home.” 

“Oh?” Ross raised a brow. A bed for his dad and Gilliam? “Why do you need a second bed? Are you adding a guest room or something?” 

That question was apparently enough to hit a nerve. Garcia’s face went red as he clutched the tools in his arms tighter, starting to sputter a bit. It was a strange sight, considering how acclimated Ross had become to the image of his father being so unwaveringly self-assured. 

“T-that’s enough! We’ve got to get started if we want this done!” Garcia quickly shoved past Ross, slipping into the woodshop before his son could question him any further. 

Well, that certainly wasn’t going to fly with Ross. The young man scoffed a bit as he began to stomp off right after his father. He didn’t get more than a step away, however, before Gilliam’s strong hand clamped down on his shoulder. 

Whirling around, Ross turned his frustrated gaze on the Frelian. Fine, if his father wasn’t going to tell him what was up, he figured he might as well ask Gilliam instead. 

“Gilly, what in the world is wrong with him? Why do you need a new bed? What happened to yours?” 

Uncharacteristically of him, Gilliam actually looked somewhat bashful. He had a blush to match Garcia’s, and he couldn’t quite meet Ross’ gaze. That only assured Ross that something was very off. 

“Our bed was...broken.” Gilliam spoke the words almost methodically, like he had to search for the right vocabulary despite his simple statement. 

“Wh—How the hell did you do that? What, did you trip and fall onto it?” 

“No. What had happened was…” Gilliam hesitated, looking away for another moment. The blush on his face seemed to deepen, but he kept that stern look on his face all the while. 

After another moment, he finally looked back to Ross. He laid a hand on the young man’s shoulder as he seemed to at last find the right words. “You know your father as well as I do, Ross. He is a gentle man, but one who can be...passionate in regards to getting what he wants.” 

“Passionate?” Ross grimaced a bit. He still had no idea just what Gilliam was getting at, but he didn’t quite like what the man was getting at. 

“Yes. When Garcia wants something, he can become very dead set on getting it, even to the point of becoming more...” another pause, “... _ assertive _ than he usually would be.” 

The confusion didn’t leave Ross’ face right away, but it didn’t take too long for the implications of what Gilliam was saying to dawn on him. Just like that, his puzzled face was overtaken by an expression of wide-eyed shock. That explanation was enough to force him to turn away, now just as red in the face as Gilliam. 

“Oh my—you two…!” Ross didn’t even have the words needed to put together a thought. That was more than he’d ever hoped to find out today. Ugh, shame on him for prodding into his father’s private life, perhaps. 

No more delaying, then. Ross took a moment to compose himself just enough to speak, looking back at Gilliam over his shoulder, “Alright, come on then. Let’s get this done, before you two  _ rabbits _ wreck anything else.” 

With that, he followed Garcia into the woodshop. Gilliam chuckled as he watched him go, no less embarrassed than before, but likely a good deal more entertained by the sounds of it. 

After enduring that whole debacle, Ross was only too glad that he’d built beds so many times by now. With their experience, they could have it done in a day. That was a great relief, to know that he would only have to work alongside his father and Gilliam with that  _ implication _ in his head for just that one day.


	2. Pampering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DAY TWO. Keeping up the trend of these dudes bein a lil bit spicy lmao.

On a typical morning, Garcia was the first to rise between him and Gilliam. With that in mind, the latter was genuinely perplexed when he’d gotten up and had his breakfast, only for Garcia not to join him at any point. He’d kissed his husband’s cheek and gotten a muttered greeting in return when he’d first rolled out of bed, but never heard the door to their bedroom open after that. It was bizarre.

After giving Garcia another few minutes, Gilliam made the decision to check in. He returned to their bedroom, peeking his head in slowly. Garcia was still in their bed, but he’d at least moved since Gilliam had left the room. He’d tossed the blanket aside and sprawled out across the entirety of the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. 

In any other circumstances, Gilliam would have been _delighted_ to find his husband naked in their bed. As it was, though, he was only concerned. 

“Garcia, usually you’re the one goading me in the morning. What are you doing?” he asked with a gentle tone, walking fully into the room. 

At the sound of Gilliam’s voice, Garcia’s head turned to look at him. His gaze lingered for a moment, only for him to look back to the ceiling with a sigh. Whatever he was dealing with must’ve been particularly difficult, as the lines and sparse wrinkles on his face were more prominent than usual. 

“Hmm. Just not feeling it this morning, somehow,” came Garcia’s reply. He sounded as worn out as he looked, lacking his usual jovial tone. 

Gilliam didn’t reply right away, only stared at his husband with sad eyes. Days like this were far from common, but this wasn’t the first time he’d seen an inexplicable sadness get a grip on Garcia. It was painful to watch, but there wasn’t much he could do to prevent it. There wasn’t any sort of rhyme or reason to when these moods struck, after all. 

Even with that being said, Gilliam couldn’t suppress an urge in his chest to do something. He had no idea what that something might be, but he wanted to intervene all the same. It just wasn’t right for him to watch the man he loved fester in such negativity. He stepped up to the bed, leaning down to press his forehead against Garcia’s. 

“Stay right here,” he said, pressing a brief kiss to Garcia’s lips, “I’ll be back in just a moment.” 

Garcia didn’t respond beyond giving a vague grunt of acknowledgement, sighing as Gilliam turned to leave the room. The knight didn’t know if he was apt enough to handle matters such as this, but he _did_ know that Garcia’s smile was something worth fighting for. That was the driving thought that kept him going as he strode into the kitchen, briskly grabbing a few things from around the room. 

By the time he returned to the bedroom, Gilliam carried a number of things in his arms. A mirror, an old rag, a small pouch of flour, some berries, and a piece of charcoal. He dropped them onto the bedside table as Garcia’s head turned towards him, eyeing him curiously. 

“Honey, what’s all that you’ve got there?” Garcia asked, brow furrowed in confusion. 

“Hush, now. This is all for you. Close your eyes.” 

Yet again, Garcia didn’t respond right away. He stared up at Gilliam skeptically for a moment, but he eventually complied and closed his tired eyes. Gilliam took the opportunity to pick up the charcoal, rolling it around his fingers until their tips were black and dusty. 

This was strange, and almost certainly something Garcia would reject if he knew what was going on, but Gilliam wouldn’t be deterred. If there was a chance this might lift Garcia’s spirits even slightly, it was worth attempting. 

Without a word, Gilliam began to lightly trace the tips of his thumbs over Garcia’s eyelids, transferring the black smudging from his fingers onto his husband’s lids. It wasn’t long until Garcia had a whole smokey eye look. A solid start. 

Shaking the remaining bits of charcoal and dust from his fingers, Gilliam moved onto the rag and flour he’d brought along. Balling up the rag in his hand, he dipped it into the flour, evenly coating the surface of the rag in a thin layer of the stuff. Once he was satisfied, he withdrew his hand and turned his attention to Garcia yet again. 

Eyes still closed. Garcia was sedentary and silent up until the moment Gilliam lightly patted the powdery rag against his husband’s cheek, sending a little puff of flour into the air around Garcia’s face. 

“ _Agh!_ Gilliam, the hell are you doing?!” That was finally enough to drag an impassioned reaction out of Garcia. His eyes shot open as he coughed a bit, looking up at Gilliam with wide eyes. 

“You’re alright, I’m nearly done.” 

It was such a minimal statement, but Gilliam knew it was enough. Garcia had told him many times that he trusted the things he said more than he rightly should, a fact that Gilliam wasn’t above taking advantage of certain instances. Thankfully, this was one such instance. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Garcia sighed and closed his eyes again, much to GIlliam’s delight. Without further ado, the Frelian resumed his pampering, patting the rag against Garcia’s opposite cheek with another puff of flour. Things were really starting to come together, now. 

All that was left were the berries. Three little oblong orbs, their skin a vivid red shade. Garcia enjoyed them for their sweetness, though that was far from what GIlliam had in mind for them at the moment. He pinched the three of them between two of his strong fingers, easily crushing them and drenching his hand in their juice. 

_Just one more finishing touch,_ Gilliam thought as he ran his wet fingers over Garcia’s lips, staining them the same red color as the berries. Even with his eyes closed, there was a clear look of realization that crossed Garcia’s face as the juice naturally dripped into his mouth. 

“Is that...the wyvernberries?” Ha asked, sounding as befuddled as he probably ought to be. The little chuckle Gilliam gave in response must not have affirmed him much, as he finally opened his eyes again and reached up to push Gilliam’s hand away. “Alright, no more playing, you tell me what you did.” 

“Gladly,” Gilliam responded. He shook the excess juice from his fingers as he grabbed the mirror, handing it to Garcia without another word. 

Once he’d taken the mirror, there was a solid minute of silence from Garcia as he took in the sight of himself. Even with the meager resources he’d used, Gilliam was not a very detail-oriented person. The impromptu makeover he’d given his husband could only be described as disastrous, with the various materials he’d applied now splayed over Garcia’s face haphazardly. The man looked like something between a concubine and a clown. 

Garcia was silent as he looked in the mirror, for long enough that Gilliam began to worry he might’ve been upset. He was just beginning to consider apologizing for the fun when Garcia made a little noise, a chuckle. A chuckle that soon blossomed into a full on laughing fit as Garcia shot up in the bed, dropping the mirror to clutch at his sides. 

“I look—” It was evidently difficult for him to even get the words out, as his laughter only grew louder. The man was in such hysterics that even his eyes were watering by now. “I look like a two gold _whore!”_

Well, that was a somewhat indelicate way of putting it, but Gilliam hardly cared. Garcia was smiling, and that was all he was concerned with. It was a relief to see, so much that he couldn’t help but smile himself, waiting patiently until Garcia’s rapturous laughter finally subsided. 

Once he’d calmed down at last, Garcia looked over towards Gilliam, offering him his hand. Gilliam took it in his own with a smile, only to gasp aloud as he was unexpectedly dragged onto the bed alongside his husband. Garcia worked quickly, not taking long until he had Gilliam pinned to the mattress beneath him. 

“You absolute bastard. I love you more with each day.” Garcia’s eyes all but sparkled as he spoke. 

“And I love you, on your fair weather days and all others.” 

The two shared loving looks for a moment after that, until Garcia leaned down, still holding GIlliam down by his shoulders. “Come on, then. If you’re gonna paint me like a whore, I may as well play the part.” 

Gilliam briefly considered pushing Garcia’s messy face away, but he quickly decided to lay back and let the situation play out. Garcia would already need a wash after having all that caked onto his face, it only seemed practical to give them _both_ all the more reason to head down to the river together. 


	3. Formal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're keeping this one short and sweet, and this is the only time I've ever said that and it didn't turn out to be a whole ass lie

It’s during his move to Ide when Gilliam begins to wonder what to do with his old armor.

He’d never been a very materialistic or excessive man, so there wasn’t much he wanted to bring with him from Frelia. Garcia had come with him on the journey to his old home anyway, insistent on helping him pack up whatever belongings he would need. Altogether, it didn’t amount to very much. Just two chests stuffed with some old mementos of old friends and brothers in arms. 

In the midst of the packing, though, Gilliam couldn’t help but feel uncertain about what to do with one thing. His armor, found unceremoniously thrown under a tarp in some corner of the room, plagued him with an inability to make a decision.

With the war over, he truly thought he’d have no use for it anymore. At his age, he was prepared to finally leave the fighting behind him and take the chance given to him to settle down with a family. Garcia had his heart in a tight hold, and he and Ross would only follow Gilliam wherever he might go if he didn’t return with them to Ide. Gilliam wouldn’t put them through that, especially not when Ross was finally starting to properly court Amelia back home. 

No. Regardless of what may come, Gilliam would find his home in Ide. There was no question. He only had to decide if he wanted to drag this piece of his past there with him or not. 

The question stalled him, enough that he spent several minutes in his old quarters just stewing over it. It was long enough that Garcia eventually came in to check on him, after having hauled the last chest out of the building. He stepped up behind Gilliam, slapping a hand on his lover’s shoulder. 

“Honey, what’re you doing? Why haven’t you packed up your armor?” He asked. 

Gilliam pursed his lips in response, wondering if he should just pack it up then and there to avoid the questioning. It’d undoubtedly be easier. Still, this was as good a chance to talk about how he was feeling as any. If anyone would understand the conflicted feelings of leaving behind a military career for something more, it’d be Garcia. 

“I’m not sure if I want to bring it at all,” Gilliam spoke hesitantly, “it’s just clutter from the war. I don’t know if I want to bring that into my home now that I’ve moved on from battle.” 

“What? But you fought in the name of Frelia for years. Don’t you want to be able to look back on those days?” Garcia sounded surprised, which probably could’ve been expected. 

“I won’t forget the years I spent if I’m without reminders. Besides, I’ve already got the men and women I fought with, some of which I’m happy won’t be leaving my side.” 

Gilliam reached down to grasp Garcia’s hand as he said that, earning him one of those wide and endearing grins he cherished seeing so much. They relished in the sentiment for a moment, only for their attention to be inevitably drawn back to the armor still sitting before them. Whether it was important or not, they still had to decide what to do with the dusty old pile of steel. 

“I think you should hang on to it,” Garcia stated simply. 

“What for then, if not the memories?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?” Garcia asked, sidling up behind Gilliam to wrap his arms around him from behind, “You look damn good when you’re dressed up all formally.” 

_Oh._

Gilliam blushed furiously at the notion laid out so casually, but couldn’t resist reaching up to lay a hand over Garcia’s where they were linked around his waist. Garcia’s head slotted nicely onto his shoulder as they both regarded the armor for another second. 

“I’d hardly call armor _formal,”_ Gilliam muttered, “Frelians don’t regard armor as a sign of class.” 

“Well, Renais does. You’ve seen our nobility, and I think you outshine any of them as far as being a vision in a breastplate.” 

_Hm._ That was definitely something to consider. Gilliam pondered the matter for another minute before gingerly removing Garcia’s arms from around him. He began to pace the room slowly, looking this way and that as he did so. 

Garcia shook his head and chuckled, watching Gilliam meander around the space. “What are you doing now?” 

“I could’ve sworn we had a third chest. Did you move it?” 

The grin on Garcia’s face only grew wider. “I moved it to the other room to get it out of the way. Sounds like you’ll be bringing the armor, then?” 

Gilliam stopped pacing, turning to give Garcia a small smile and a quick nod. 

“Yes, I think I will. There’s someone who appreciates it a lot more than I do, after all.” 


	4. Injury

Through the years, Garcia had adapted to his role as someone who could see the upside to any situation. That quality had even been what drew his late wife to him, that contrast to her more reserved and studious nature that she always said she loved. It was for that reason that Garcia never lost that optimistic edge, even when she’d been laid to rest.

Of course, being as positive as he was, maybe it was only natural that challenges would come to his life along the way to test that outlook of his. The lingering consequence of one such change was rearing its head again tonight, keeping his husband from rest. 

Garcia had returned home after gathering some lumber to find everything oddly still. The kitchen looked as if nobody had been in it, even though Gilliam would usually wait to have supper with him. He was almost certainly home, too considering there was no note on the door saying he’d departed. Altogether, it gave Garcia a fairly good idea about where he might have been. 

Cracking open the door of their bedroom, Garcia saw what he expected. Gilliam was sitting on the side of the bed, holding his left hand in his right and staring down at it. His thumb flexed, then the following three digits, and he grimaced as he looked at the empty spot where his pinky finger had been. 

It had been about a year, and Garcia had started to think that Gilliam was getting used to the empty spot on the end of his hand. He  _ was  _ getting used to it. There were just days where it suddenly seemed to strike him all over again. 

“Y’alright, honey?” Garcia spoke up, walking over to take a seat beside Gilliam on the bed. 

“Yes, thank you,” Gilliam muttered, not even looking up from his hand. 

Hm. By Garcia’s own observations he obviously wasn’t, but it wouldn’t do either of them any good to push and force the topic. He settled with wrapping an arm around Gilliam, silently letting him have the space to open up himself. He always did, with enough time. 

It didn’t take long tonight. “I knew about phantom pains before, lots of old soldiers complained of it when they’d lose a finger or a limb.” Gilliam’s voice was soft, enough so that Garcia had to lean in close to catch what he was saying. “I never thought I’d find out what that would feel like.” 

“Nobody ever does.” 

“Hmm.” 

Gilliam’s eyes stayed trained on the empty spot, even running the fingers of his opposite hand over the flesh there. That habit had been a little disconcerting when Garcia first witnessed it. By now, he could at least bite his tongue and keep his comments to himself. 

Gilliam’s own ramblings eventually picked up again, even without prompting. “How often do you think that happens? A soldier leaves the fighting behind, just to lose a finger to a construction incident?” 

The irony of that day hadn’t escaped any of them. The man who’d held unparalleled skill with a lance for years only had to fumble with a saw once, and suddenly his life was very different. It was just a relief that Garcia and Ross had been there with him the whole time, Gilliam had been so stunned he might’ve gone into shock and lost a lot of blood if left to his own devices. 

“Don’t think it’s a common occurrence. You just might be one of a kind.” Garcia said with a shrug of his shoulders. 

He leaned in a little closer, resting his head on his husband’s shoulder. “Do you still feel off without it?” 

“...No. Not anymore. Not deep down.” Gilliam answered after a moment. 

“That’s what I like to hear!” That was enough to bring a smile back to Garcia’s face as he leaned in to kiss Gilliam’s cheek. 

Just as he always did, Gilliam flushed at the affection. Even after all this time, his husband was just that gifted with his ability to suck all the pensiveness and misery out of a situation, leaving an easygoing sort of joy in their wake. “Clearly you’re not too dismayed over coming home every night to a man with only nine fingers.” 

“Not at all!” Garcia confirmed, “As far as I’m concerned, my man only needs  _ two  _ fingers to keep me content!” 

Improper as it may have been, Gilliam couldn’t help but guffaw at that statement. That’s all it boiled down to, wasn’t it? No matter what he might face in the coming years, it was a near certainty that he’d face it with Garcia at his side, right there to help him. Just as he’d been doing for a good long while now. 

That was worth a whole lot more than a tenth finger ever would be.

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY GILLICIA WEEK. I started late because of circumtances but I refuse to let that stop me, I'll finish it late if I have to idgaf. ANYWAY thanks so much for reading!! I'm always welcoming feedback in comments, or over on my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/JosephThropp) and [Tumblr](https://josephthropp.tumblr.com/)! Have a lovely day everyone!


End file.
